


One More Cup of Coffee

by stylesforstiles



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Fluff, M/M, Silly flirty boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-12
Updated: 2013-09-12
Packaged: 2017-12-26 08:35:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/963854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stylesforstiles/pseuds/stylesforstiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes Harry and Louis a few weeks and a lot of caffeine to realize they fancy each other</p><p>or a silly little coffee shop AU about silly lovely boys</p>
            </blockquote>





	One More Cup of Coffee

Louis Tomlinson was a man of obsessions.

As a child it was the Power Rangers, though adult Louis can’t help but wonder that he even subconsciously knew back then that spandex on a man was going to be really appealing to him in the future.

As a teenager he went through many different clothing obsessions, including a particularly embarrassing era where he was a devout TOMS enthusiast.

Now at the ripe old age of twenty one, Louis was pushing his football obsession into the number two slot to make room for fit coffee shop boy.

Louis stumbled upon fit coffee shop boy in the middle of summer when he was running late for work and in desperate need of a pick me up. Louis had never actually noticed the shop before, so he assumed it had to be new, and was immediately smitten when he was handed over his double shot vanilla latte. Sure he only made contact with him for about sixty seconds, but he was pretty sure he saw heaven, and it was a breathtaking, dimple shaped, bed of curls.  

Louis came back the following Sunday just to make sure his eyes weren’t mistaken, and in fact he was even better than he had originally thought. And as an added bonus Louis got to revel in his voice, which if a chocolate bar tasted like sex wrapped in more chocolate then dipped into melted chocolate with dark chocolate sprinkles on top, then yes. That’s what it was equivalent too. And Louis really enjoyed a good spot of chocolate.

So from that point on Louis when to the shop every Sunday and sat in the corner with his vanilla latte (which Louis really wanted to come in chocolate, which really was a metaphor for him wanting to come in fit coffee shop boy), and wrote pages and pages of poems about green eyes, erratic curls and rose petal colored lips, and the sick thing was that Louis didn’t even major in English, so why the fuck he was writing poems, he had no idea. He didn’t actually major in anything, wasting away the last couple of years bumming around Europe, which he thinks should make him a worldly scholar, he has _seen_ things.

But really he was just an expert on alcoholic beverages and sleeping in cramped quarters.

The most frustrating thing about this attraction was that it didn’t make any sense to Louis. Everything about this boy was bizarre: sometimes he wore double plaid button down shirts in the middle of a heat wave, he had an atrocious collection of bandana’s and fedoras, he couldn’t figure out if he owned one pair of jeans, or fifteen pairs of the same ones, and his jewelry collection was one to rival Louis’ own mother’s.  

It didn’t end there though. Louis would overhear him saying ‘Namaste’ to customers and wondered if he was some sort of hipster vegan hybrid, a vegster if you will, which he hoped not because it would really put a damper on their fictitious relationship. Louis really loved a good steak dinner okay. However, this could also mean that he practiced yoga, and to Louis that meant being flexible. He often found himself wondering if he could do a back bend.  And thus another poem was written.

So every Sunday he would pack up his notebook which he hopes made him look mysterious… maybe Curly (as he had taken to calling fit coffee shop boy) thought he was writing the next Oscar winning screenplay. Hmm. Maybe he _should_ write a screenplay…and slink back to his flat to get high with his roommate Zayn. After that he would recite him some of his poetry, to which Zayn would always smack him on the side of the head with a fond look “Just fucking ask him out already.”

But Louis didn’t. Instead he pined from afar and also annoyed his coworker Liam, asking him if he thought being a vegster was a thing, as if Liam would know anything about hipster music (he fancied himself a rap music buff for some reason, and Louis wondered if he realized that they worked in a book store, which was like the least hardcore thing ever). Sadly, Liam just did the same thing as Zayn, patting him on the arm while shaking his head at him, “Lou, please just ask the bloke out, we’re begging you.”

Now it was fall, and Louis had moved onto pumpkin spice lattes, yet he still wasn’t ready to move on from admiring from a distance (it was not borderline stalking, shut up Zayn).

On this particular day he was rolling his eyes at the obscure music that played in the background, because he had a bet with himself that Curly had the lyrics to Teenage Dream tattooed somewhere on his body. He wasn’t 100% hipster. Louis was sure of this. And well since he was on the topic, his body. Let’s talk about that for a while. While Louis always saw him in an apron, he had a sneaking suspicion that it was banging underneath – side note, he’s going to kill Liam for his use of the term ‘banging body’, they really needed to stop listening to his shit rap and R&B CD mixes at work.  Alternatively, he also wants to see Curly in nothing but that apron. Louis really needed to find a hobby.

*

Harry had sworn to himself that he would never get a job in a coffee shop. He had already been mocked for years by his best mate Niall regarding his fashion sense – “Harry mate, I can never figure out if you’re being clever, or if you’re just fashion impaired” or “Harry mate, the sleeve of one of your t shirts is wrapped around your head, did you learn that from one of them hipsters blogs you follow?” and finally “Harry mate,  all that’s missing from your outfit today is an ironic job at an overpriced coffee shop”…so yeah. And he never would have given in, except for that fact that he was broke and literally nowhere else was hiring, so here he was serving mochas and non-fat smoothies to stressed out businessmen, struggling writers, and mum’s that had nothing better to do after they dropped their kids off at daycare.

Then, one non eventful Thursday afternoon he served the most beautiful boy he had ever seen.

Harry had been taking people’s orders with less than his regular enthusiasm, when he suddenly came face to face with the tanned, pixie faced guy of his dreams. He was in a terrible hurry, so he barely looked at Harry, which he was pretty okay with because he couldn’t get much out of his mouth other than “That will be four pounds”, and then longingly watched him as he hurried out the door and out of his life.

Or so he thought.

Much to Harry’s delight he came back again the following Sunday, huddling himself into a corner table and stayed for hours. Sunday’s usually provided a steady stream of customers, so all Harry could really do was shoot subtle glances at him from the counter, and write down little things about his features that stood out to him on post it notes and stuff them into his pockets for later. Harry had been looking for a topic to do his upcoming poetry assignment on (because Harry was an overachiever and took a couple of summer courses to keep his mind active. Niall tells him that he needs to get laid and make his dick active instead. He’s probably not wrong), and all of a sudden he had about fifty different ways to describe blue eyes and sharp cut cheekbones.

This became a weekly ritual, providing him with a mess of sticky notes that littered the desk in his room, and had Niall quirking a concerned eyebrow up at him when he came over for beers and pizzas one night. “Uh yeah, this is looking a wee bit unhealthy, you are balancing between a very thin line of quirky hipster and creepy serial killer, mate.” Which had Harry frowning and quickly shutting his door. “Shut up, I just happen to take my poetry assignment really seriously.”

As in much, much too seriously.

He doesn’t know why he couldn’t get up the courage to actually talk to him, but he thinks it had a lot to do with the fact that he was way out of Harry’s league, and much too cool for him. He was always dressed in form fitting jeans that probably should have been illegal for how they clung to the curve of his bum…not that Harry was looking or anything. He also had an array of band t shirts, and more often than not a skateboard tucked under his arm. His smile was half mischievous, half adorable forest sprite, and his hair was this artfully done up messy caramel masterpiece that Harry just wanted to see in the early morning light to see what other colors it reflected, and if Niall were around in that moment he would definitely tell Harry that he had crossed over to serial killer territory.

Then one day as Harry stared out the window waiting for his Sunday fix of handsome stranger he noticed a few scattered leaves blowing around on the ground and wow. It was fall.

And as if right on cue, the door chimed open. Harry and Blue Eyes started their weekly song and dance of smiles and niceties and then the grand finale of handing over of his beverage that Harry always made with special care, before they retired to their respective corners of the shop. Harry leaned against the back counter, pulling the cap off his pen in frustration, because he had just come to realize that he had wasted weeks, _weeks_ on scribbled words and heavy prose on this boy, when they could have been spending them getting to know each other, and kissing. Harry really wanted all the kissing.  

And with that Harry stood up straight and turned on his heel to march over to the table he had been avoiding all of these weeks.

*

Louis gnawed on the lid of his pen, flicking a glance outside and shivered involuntarily in his jacket. He also wanted to kick himself because it was fall, and all he had done with his summer was gotten high with Zayn and written a bunch of lousy poems about a curly haired devil that he was afraid to talk to. He was failing at life.

He heard a the shuffling of feet and the sound of a throat clearing and turned his head to face none other than fit coffee shop boy.

He rocked back and forth on his heels, giving Louis a shy little smile. “Hello.”

Louis swallowed. He was talking. The human equivalent of a sexy chocolate bar was talking to him. Louis felt his cheeks heat up. Stupid cheeks, why must you fail me now Louis thought. “Oh…uh hello.”

Curly grinned at him, flashing that spectacular dimple. “So, I have to ask…you’ve been coming in here for quite some time, and well I would really like to know your name.”

Louis’ eyebrows shot up in surprise. This was not what he had expected. “Why?”

This time it was Curly’s turn to blush. “I was kind hoping to know what it was so I could figure out whether to curse you, or sigh happily after I find out what your answer to me asking you out will be. And well, a name will give it all that so much more depth.”

Yes. Definitely unexpected. What a mouthful of words just to ask Louis out on a date.

Now, try not to sound as epically thrilled as you are inside. Louis thinks he’s also spent far too much time in his head chatting to himself this summer.  “It’s Louis.”

And just like that his spectacular dimple carved a deep hole into his cheek. “Alright, nice to meet you Louis, I’m Harry. So, do you think you would be at all interested in getting a drink with me that’s not vanilla or pumpkin flavored?”

Louis leaned forward on his elbows, a tiny smirk playing on his lips. “I am _very_ interested Harry, in fact something with chocolate in it sounds down right delicious.”

Harry cocked an eyebrow at him, mirroring his subtle smirk. “I feel like we’re not talking about drinks anymore…”

Louis stood up, stuffing his notebook into his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder before turning to give a wink to Harry. “We’re not. Fuck the drink love; we’ve practically been dating from afar all summer,” he grabbed the lone napkin on the table and quickly scribbled his address on it, handing it over to him. “Come by mine after work.”

…

Later that night a few things happened – Zayn was kicked out of the flat for the night, muttering ‘thank fucking god’ under his breath on his way out, he figured out that Harry did indeed have a banging body underneath that apron, and that in fact he also kind of tasted like chocolate.

Turns out, he was still going to be Louis’ number one obsession for a while.   


End file.
